


underneath flesh and bones

by mister all rounder (jeadore)



Category: X1 (Korea Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Internal Conflict, M/M, POV Second Person, Pining, aka seungwoo has feels and doesnt know what to do, x1 and victon members mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-07 20:23:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20981822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeadore/pseuds/mister%20all%20rounder
Summary: People often remark “He’s Han Seungwoo, the leader”—leader of Victon, leader of X1, leader, leader, leader. They talk about skills and responsibilities and stance and virtues like if Leader Han is an omnipotent entity between idols instead of a mere person with emotions, pains and a heart too big to tame.Then Lee Hangyul comes and calls: “hyung-nim.”





	underneath flesh and bones

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. i've been meaning to write woogyul since *that* move in u got it-x1's version. so, kind of self-indulgent  
2\. how do i tag this? hurt/comfort? mild angst? not fluff?  
3\. i'm truly sorry if someone seems ooc (kang seungsik esp). is hard to write angels on earth right, dude

People often remark “He’s Han Seungwoo, the leader”—leader of Victon, leader of X1, leader, leader, leader. They talk about skills and responsibilities and stance and virtues like if Leader Han is an omnipotent entity between idols instead of a mere person with emotions, pains and a heart too big to tame.

Then Lee Hangyul comes and calls: “hyung-nim.”

Is not really that surprising anymore.

Praise has always come in all the ways and forms when they name you for the position and it used to make you feel proud, recognized. There has always been words about your hard work, your natural leadership, your charisma, your organization abilities, your talent, your humbleness. And there has always been smiles from your side: a bright smile and a few high fives when you were named Captain, a wide smile and a deep bow when you were named Victon’s leader, a sloppy, giggly smile and squared shoulders when you were named X1’s leader.

They say you were born for it; you have the personality, the skills. Aptitudes and attitudes. You want to deny it—you just have practice. Is not only modesty anymore, a bit of weariness is meshed together too.

They also say that the third time is the charm, but you have counted a lot of third times —a lot of group projects, group trainings, group games— that never were _it,_ so you just stopped counting altogether. What most people might consider the charm, has losen its lustre to you.

Still, you accept it, grateful to your bones. _It means they like you_, you mumble to yourself.

“It’s your fate,” Chan snickers over the phone. “Blame it on being good.”

Some days, some nights, you want to treat your fate more like a curse than a blessing.

You don’t. Bless and curse are both sides of the same coin. And deep inside, you believe that fate is actually the paths you clear, the bridges you build and the sides you choose at any bifurcation.

You were the one who wanted to be a football player, you decided to follow the idol path when you were sent back to the bench after an injury, you exerted yourself to try to make it, you accepted the company’s decision of sending some members to a survival show. You, you, _you_. Slightly fucked up, isn’t it?

Hanse corrects you and calls it _destiny_. As any good leader, you listen to him. He has an insightful mind and a cross inked in his body, he must know better.

Destiny or fate—you fall for a guy. And that’s not slightly, but insanely fucked up.

Another layer to your weariness, another responsibility to take care of.

You should have known better, Han Seungwoo.

Is not like you haven’t seen your fair share of pretty people. You trained with handsome athletic guys and beautiful feminine sunbaes. You kissed teammates behind bleachers, girls in the school’s rooftop, and went on beach dates every summer back in Busan. You are in the same group with people like Byungchan and Sejun, in the same company with Naeun and Hayoung, in the same show with Kim Wooseok and fresh faces like Kim Minkyu and hundreds of staffs and cameras.

So why, _why_, your knees go weak, _weaker_, every time you catch his gaze perched on you? Why air gets stuck in your lungs every time he walks around with his torso naked, why your eyes linger on him whenever he’s near, why you let him get away with his teasing and jokes and clinginess? With your heart in his hands?

This is not the right time nor place. And now, for the next five years or more, it’ll never be.

Yohan whines because he wants to take off that cast boot and dance with the others, but you tell him not to. Wait and rest. _Wouldn’t want it to not heal well and have chronic pains for the rest of your life_. Wooseok looks like he is about to click his tongue and chastise you about not following your own advises. But he doesn’t do it—beyond his appearance and whatever people say, Wooseok isn’t disrespectful like that.

Disrespectful—_Cheeky_ is Hangyul, who screams a _Suck it up, Yohanie!_ as he pats his friend’s shoulder and looks at you as if every word you say is sacred. As if he can’t wait to hear you talk and talk and talk.

Then he pushes you to the nearest seat and looks at you as if he’s daring you to complain.

“You too. Rest, hyung-nim.”

Is not like Lee Hangyul’s intentions weren’t clear from the beginning. Is just that you didn’t pay enough attention. He was just a husky voice and strong features you could barely see in a sea of strangers, of dreamers.

And even if you did, you were too preoccupied with the tasks, responsibilities, missions at hand. Save your group from oblivion, showcase your abilities, improve them, built back your beaten up confidence. Blend in and disappear in the background. Diligence, concern, liability and shame are funny like that. They fought a bloody battle inside of you and then fear made you its prisoner. You were so, so afraid it could show in your gaze—because you learned to control almost every muscle of your body, but your eyes aren’t muscles and they usually betray you. They betray, oh, so easily. So you grew your fringe longer as a self-defence mechanism and then you were in control again.

Or almost in control. Because even behind a long fringe, your eyes caught that funny face the guy with strong features sent on your way from across the practice room and your heart, that bitchy uncontrollable muscle of yours, skipped a beat.

The following weeks, you unconsciously looked around the hallways, trying to find that face again. You finally did it in the big practice room, while you were waiting for the trainers. They guy was playing around with another trainee, t-shirts lifted over their heads as they danced to Love Shot, showing off his toned body alongside his smooth dance line.

The name tag read Lee Hangyul and it seemed about to break with every move.

The other guy was Cho Seungyoun and one day he went to you during a break to talk. He wasn’t that bored, but soon you learnt that he doesn’t even need that excuse. He just likes to talk and joke around and he might have been friends with everybody by that point. Still you felt special again when he asked _you_ if you wanted to hang out with him and his friend.

Soon the three of you were walking the crowded streets of Seoul, chilling at cafés, looking curiously at parrots and laughing freely. It felt like a deep, deep breath of fresh air.

Human beings need time to adjust, right? You adjusted just fine, easily.

“You picked me because I’m sexy?” You ask, chuckles bubbling at the back of your throat. Something in that statement feels unbelievable. Surreal.

But not as surreal as when Hangyul nods, serious expression, and announces: “You are.”

_So are you_. The inside of your cheek hurts when you bite it, when you hold yourself back from spilling any unwelcomed word. “So is Seungyoun,” you say instead. “Why didn’t you pick him?”

Hangyul grimaces and giggles. “I was under Seungyoun’s leadership once. You don’t want to give him that power again.”

You furrow your eyebrows, disconcerted. “Why? I thought he did well.”

“Oh, he was great. But he is more… emotional? Like—he wants to help everyone and everybody and he pressures himself to do so a little. Or a fucking lot—is not so easy to read him in between his energy and smiles. Oh, sorry for swearing,” he adds, maybe a bit surprised of himself. Of his own thoughts. He scratches the back of his head, affected awkward smile blooming in his lips. “If he’s the leader, in the end, he might give himself away completely. He could be carelessly like that. You, hyung-nim…In the other hand, you look stronger, more in control of your emotions… More put together? Experienced?”

He stumbles with his words and interjects hesitating sounds in between awkward titters. After months of knowing each other, you are sure he’s not bullshiting his explanation, but having trouble in translating his thoughts into organized phrases. Maybe he isn’t good in deep talks. Maybe both of you suck at talking feelings.

What a pair, you two.

Hangyul pursues his lips and you find it cute. Cute, cute, cute. And a stark contrast to the determination that glints in his eyes when he adds: “You also look like you enjoy being a leader. And I find all that sexy.”

Five years.

He’s five years younger. He’s five years younger than you even if he looks older, even if he looks like he’s your age, even if he looks like a timeless sculpture, an everlasting Adonis. He’s five years younger and has a toned body, smooth tanned skin and husky, sensual voice. He’s five years younger and you lust over him in the privacy of your mind, in the privacy of your room.

He’s five years younger and has a deep laugh, dry hilarious humour and a toothy smile.

Jumbled thoughts torment you whenever he smiles. And he does it so. Fucking. Much.

Insanely fucked up and slightly ironic. He makes you knees go weak, figuratively and a bit of literally speaking. But when your knees actually do go weak, when it hurts like hell because you tried to give your all during the performances even if your knee has never fully healed, he’s by your side, hugging you by the waist and offering himself as a human crutch.

He’s also the one that chose to sit next to you and that vowed to never let you rest. Yet you find yourself sleeping with your head on his shoulder more times that you can count. You try not to do it, though. And they said third time is the charm, but you have counted more third times that you would like to admit and, in the end, the real charm is to give in.

Is to let him stand by your side, playing with your ears and whispering nonsense in the middle of shows. Is to let him take the trophy, your very first music show win trophy, out of your hands so the public won’t notice how shaky you are. Is to let him massage your knee and cling to your side.

It feels good to be taken care of for a change, isn’t it?

And for a change, you aren’t treated as the Leader. Sure, he teases you like if you were a boss, as a CEO or a major gangster, but never as the Nation’s Leader. He doesn’t hold you against impossible standards, but he also doesn’t pamper you.

He addresses you as _hyung-nim_ and it’s weird, is so fucking weird. Is deconstructed, familiar and warm. But also formal and, somehow, relaxing. Is not like when Byungchan boasts about you being his hyung, but neither is as when the public points at you and vivisect you alive.

It reminds you of your position—your responsibilities, duties and values. But it also reminds you that you’re beloved.

For a while, a short while, you go with the flow. Fed him your sweets, allow him to treat you like a boss and like a same-aged friend, pose for every selfie he asks, go way out of your way to get him cold sprays if his ankle hurts or pain-relieving patches for his back.

Things you’d do for any member, you tell yourself. And it’s true, but also it isn’t.

If something makes you feel proud and embarrassed at the same time, is people claiming that U Got It is your song. They call you sexy, they await for your parts, they direct all their cameras towards you. They praise your voice, your body, your moves, your performance. When U Got It comes next in the set list, they don’t only treat you like the leader, but like the embodiment of sexiness.

But then Hangyul comes—flowy bronze silk shirt or plain tight white top, thick powerful thighs and impertinent hooded eyes—and you want to scoff, because, damn, they got it all wrong.

Hangyul comes and he’s just following the choreography, hitting perfectly every beat with his own powerful style. And then he does small adlibs—imperceptible next to Seungyoun’s adlib, maybe— without losing the beat, without losing his cool. And you should be extremely proud of your own professionalism, of not losing your own cool and keep carring on with the performance.

Hangyul comes and grabs your arm after you jump over him just like the choreography asks, grip firm and steady. But then he caress you gently, skimming his warm palm up your arm until he reaches your wrist, sending chills down your spine. And he squeezes your wrist, mutely telling you that he’s there, that you should face him, face those hooded fiery eyes. You do. But instead of fierceness, there’s desire glimmering under the stage bright lights and lips pulled up in a smirk.

A sudden thought strikes: You could give up all your sexiness, all your privileges, all your career for a smirk like that. Alluring, expressive, inciting. That bitchy heart of yours beats faster, like if you have been dancing for hours and hours non-stop. Although air seems to be stuck in your lungs.

The crowd roars and cheers and the choreography must go on, the performance must go on. The moment breaks—even if the daze stays there, in the back of your brain, not as nearly dormant as you wish.

You try to avoid him, but is getting harder and harder when he is just there. All the time. Dancing, laughing, talking, joking, breathing. You work together, eat together, live together. And even if he’s not in the same room, he is still _there_. Trapped underneath your flesh and bones, squeezing your heart time and time again.

Is almost like… the pain in your knee. Even if you treated it, is still there. Some days is so dull you barely register it, some days is sharp and burns you whole from the inside. And it doesn’t matter how careful you are, it always appears again, wild and unpredictable.

So, at some point, you just want to stop being extremely careful. You’re already hurt, after all.

And, _woah_. Comparing not only your feelings, comparing a _person_ to a chronic pain? That’s fucked up. Massive and insanely fucked up. Maybe slightly ironic too.

You do are damaged, Han Seungwoo.

When he asks if he can go to play in your room, you say you’ll lock the door. Is not like you’re going to do it, really, but you use all your time talking to your family and napping, just in case.

Then you finally open it because there’s a camera, so you two will behave, you will behave, even if just is a phone camera and you are live broadcasting through an app. Broadcasting to thousand, _millions_ of fans worldwide.

And you behave, you really try to. But he pulls you to his lap because the place is so crowded is difficult to fit in the frame. Like if that isn’t enough, he sneaks an arm around your waist, then the other, to secure there. And the _sensations_—his tight hug, his husky voice, his brisk invigorating laughter and warm minty fresh breath colliding against the fabric of your pyjama. The sensations could drive you crazy.

Eunsang is there, looking at you curiously. Seungyoun is there too, looking at you smugly. And you should talk about the joy of life, but is becoming hard going further into the topic without mentioning this very moment, right now.

Especially when he mentions _you_.

Despite the insolent fuckboy façade, Hangyul is gentle and understanding. When you two are alone, he gives you his full attention and cracks a few dry jokes to see you smile. To ease your tension. He even asks you if you want ramen, tone sincere and innocent, no second intentions hidden behind.

You shake your head, some hair intruding into your eyes. Your fringe is growing long again.

He jokes about it being your charming point since he met you, yet you can’t find the punchline. Not when it hitches your breath. Not when it could mean that he could have accepted you with all your flaws since the beginning. Only if you weren’t in this situation, only if you have met in different circumstances and after different decisions.

“You know we can’t do it, right?” you whisper.

And Hangyul shrugs, gaze falling for an instant. You guess he’s going to crack a joke or ask further what you mean, but you guess wrong. And is kind of a relief, because explaining could break you in pieces.

“I know you can’t. That’s why I haven’t really tried anything,” he says, honest. There’s something in his eyes—something like a mix of honey and bitterness and vivid throbbing sorrow—that makes you wonder if aren’t you the chronical pain in his life. “It’s okay, told you I find that sexy.”

He does crack a sardonic smile at the end. And _fuck_. Even if it shouldn’t be, it’s so beautiful that your heart crushes and skips a beat at the same time. Is beautiful, but also the last thing you see before he leaves the room, murmuring that he does is hungry and needs that ramen.

Seungsik calls you during the early hours of a Sunday. It’s okay; you’re awake and Seungsik must know it. Because he’s the one who might know you best and because you two fucked up your sleeping schedules a long time ago during your training period. He calls to talk about their next comeback as Victon, about how is still weird to divide lines between six people and about how Subin has taken over your bed, so the next time you visit them, you should tease him—like if you could ever say no to the maknae. He also doesn’t miss the chance to nag you about not taking good care of your body, and is almost the same tone, the same words he used the night before your surgery. _You’re always ready to fight manager and the company for your members, when will you start to fight for yourself?_ And it’s a little bit more comforting than nagging should be, so you promise him you’ll do it. You’ll try, at least.

And that must have set some alarm off, because Seungsik immediately asks what is wrong in this fine Sunday, at fuck o’clock in the morning. And this is Seungsik—Seungsik who knows you best and cheers for you and has taken a fair share of your weight and responsibilities as his own. So you whisper: “I’m falling apart.”

“Aren’t we all?” And, yeah, maybe you’re not that special. Remember: you’re not an omnipotent entity, you’re just another human being. “But talking it out helps. So, what’s happening?”

“There’s a guy. I…like him,” you confess, softly. Saying it out loud makes it feel real, almost palpable. You hold back the bigger L word though, because saying _that_ out loud makes it painfully real. “One of the members.”

There’s a beat of silence. “_Oh_. Is he… a minor?”

“What? No!”

“Hey, I had to ask. Not my fault that half your group is underage,” Seungsik replies. “But, yeah. I guess I can understand you. Does he… does he like you back?”

Memories of Hangyul’s lingering gaze, his smiles, his words and gestures flood your mind. His intentions have always been crystal clear. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Then go ahead,” Seungsik says, to your surprise. “The path you took, the position you are in now might not be the best, but you should take advantage of its perks. Enjoy the ride a little.”

Your stomach plummets and every muscle of your body suddenly weights a ton. “You said it yourself: the path I took, that I chose. Half nation is scrutinizing us. People from all the world is doing it too. I can’t give myself the luxury of fucking it up. This is not the best time, really. I can… I can hold myself back.”

“Then when it’ll be? I know you can hold yourself, but _why_ would you do it? You have a pretty boy liking you back, why would you do it?” Seungsik asks, exasperation taking over his voice. And it’s the biggest wakeup call you’ve experienced in a while. If Seungsik, just-a-nice-boy Seungsik, is slowly raising his voice, maybe you’ve been doing something wrong. “Look, hyung. I believe that we choose our destiny like you do, but some things… some things aren’t up to us. Some things escape from our control. So we have to do the best we can with them. And in your case… you just need to be careful.”

A sigh escape through your lips. “I’m tired, Seungsik.”

“Of being careful? Then we’re in the wrong industry, don’t you think?” he snorts. “But think of it, hyung. Dating this guy or holding yourself back—you’ll still have to be careful. Why don’t enjoy a little?”

A few years ago, you decided to get your body inked. It seemed cool and meaningful. Perhaps it was a little bit painful, but it’s the kind of pain that brings something beautiful to life.

First, you got your birthday date to remind yourself of how grateful you are to your parents. Last, lilacs with a crescent moon to cherish your time alongside Victon. But is your second tattoo the one you stare at in your reflection. Under your collarbones, above the heart and written in elegant cursive, _Don’t lock me up_. You got it as a reminder—a note to yourself, a memorandum of letting your emotions run fast and wild and freely.

You haven’t truly seen your own reflection in a while, have you? You just stared at the growing dark bags under your eyes, at your longer fringe, at the way your cheeks got a little skinner and at how the clothes look on you. But haven’t actually _seen_.

_Don’t lock me up_. Then why, why are you locked in your room, staring at your own reflection with a blank face?

Why have you confused it with being in control of your emotions?

Why have you allowed yourself to do the only thing you forbid?

Blooming tears tickle in the inner side of your eyes as you finally let yourself be completely and utterly torn. You miss Victon, but you also treasure X1 now. Responsibilities weight you down, but also make you feel valuable. You yearn for the stage, but also for peace. Love—

Love is a wonder.

Destiny or fate—you fell for a guy. And the guy likes you back.

And whatever it is, fucked up or not, is not only up to you.

You should act better, Han Seungwoo.

You corner Hangyul as soon as the group go back to the dorm from a schedule. He still has his make up on and the same worry in his eyes since he saw you wince earlier. It’s okay, it has dulled since, so you’ll just take a painkiller and rest a litt— no. You’ll go to the hospital. You’ll get a proper treatment. And you’ll coerce Hangyul and Yohan to go with you and have a check-up if necessary.

But tomorrow. Today, right now, you’ll lock you up in your room and unlock yourself up.

There’s a peck of curiosity and cautiousness in Hangyul’s eyes when you hug his shoulders, but still he helps you walk to your room, to your bed. “I’ll go and tell manager,” he announces as soon as you sit down.

You refuse, once, twice, and when he’s about to reply back, you grab his wrist. Grip firm and steady. “I want you to stay.”

It’s not a plea, it’s an order. And Hangyul straightens his back at that, curiosity growing stronger alongside some defensiveness. Yet he is too gentle and nice and good to pick up a fight or disobey you, or even go as far as raise his voice. So he nods hesitantly and sits by your side, not as near as you would like.

So you slide nearer to him, thinning the gap between your bodies. He seems surprised and even taken a little aback, and that makes you self-conscious. You swing your upper body back and forward, as you collect all the courage you have left and loosen the grip you have around your own heart. But again: he’s the one that has your heart in his hands too.

“Hangyul-ah… you like me, right?”

“Are you going to use that to blackmail me, hyung-nim?” he jokes, a hint of awkwardness and hurt laced in his tone. Still, it makes you laugh. It makes you laugh because he and his dry humour are really hilarious, because the pun hits close to home and just because. Being next to Hangyul makes you feel lighter, even if your breathe hitches and even if you should be worried about all the feelings you’ll have to unravel and speak out loud.

“Maybe.”

You stare at him, trying to memorize every single feature of his face that isn’t sealed with fire in your mind already. Every eyelash, every hair, every pore. Even the small lines in his neck that aren’t concealed with makeup and the way his white teeth poke out because he unconsciously opens his mouth all the damn time. And that only highlights its shape, the slope of the upper lip, the curled up end of it, the fullness of the lower lip.

“I like you, Hangyul. I like you a lot,” you say, finally. A rushed confession that has been due for long. “But my— _our_ situation is complicated. People expect from me and from all of us to do no wrong. To do more than well. And those… those expectations are up against high standards.”

Hangyul nods, slowly. Like he is processing and comprehending your words. However he doesn’t hesitate when he retorts: “Everyone’s expectations are different, hyung. We can’t please everybody.”

“Maybe. But I still want to try,” you insist. “Without losing _us_. I’d like to be an _us_.”

You can’t help but smile fondly when he blinks. Once, twice. “Wait, wait. Hyung, what are you saying? Does that mean…? Hyung, please explain me, I might be stupid.”

And now you just let peals of laughter escape from the deepness of your throat, of your heart. “No, you’re not,” you assures him, a shy pat in his arm, a feather-like stroke up his shoulder. “I’m saying that I would like to be with you. Together. If you want,” you clarify.

More than that: you finally ask for his opinion. Like, maybe, you should have done since the beginning. But it have taken you all this time to understand, Han Seungwoo. Yes, you aren’t an omnipotent entity, but you aren’t also a regular human. You’re a leader and as any good leader, you should listen and take everyone in consideration.

As an answer, Hangyul leans in to close the gap between you two, between your faces. There’s eagerness and happiness bubbling in his expression, so it’s kind of amusing and kind of distressing for you to stop him halfway. “There’s should be some rules, though.”

Hangyul groans. “It’s incredible how unfunny and sexy your confession is.”

You chuckle again, shyly. “X1’s teamwork—the group’s atmosphere is great. Maybe one of our biggest strengths, Hangyul-ah. We can’t afford to fuck it up,” you state, firmly. “The group can’t be damaged. Whatever happen between us, must stay between us.”

“Huh. Even us being together? Because I’m pretty sure that Seungyoun knows that I like you.”

You scoffs. Of course that Seungyoun knows. “Well, let him suspect. If everything goes well…” you start, but your voice thins slightly when embarrassment flood you. Your ears redden when you mumble: “He’ll be alone in his room a lot of nights.”

When you look up, Hangyul is smiling at you, relaxed and attentive, cute teeth peeking out. And _fuck_ if that isn’t beautiful. “I think that those are some sexy rules I can follow,” he says. Or you think you hear him say, because you’re too occupied closing the gap between you two.

Kissing Hangyul is painful—your lips swell, your breath fastens, your heart squeezes and expands and skips many, many beats, uncontrollable. Kissing Hangyul might be a bit painful, but is the kind of pain that brings something beautiful to life.

Kissing Hangyul is every side of wonderful. Liberating.

**Author's Note:**

> woah. you did it, you read it 'til the end. thank you for reading!!
> 
> kudos and comments would be truly appreciate it♥


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